


Forged in Fire

by Icarus3



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Character Study, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 02:13:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1287418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icarus3/pseuds/Icarus3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack watches Ianto as he sleeps</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forged in Fire

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written back in early 2009 as something of a character study. I always understood what Ianto saw in Jack, but wondered what Jack saw in Ianto. So I just started writing, and this was the result.
> 
> Also posted on Tumblr: http://destielhiseyesopened.tumblr.com/post/79279144005

So young, Jack thought, trailing his fingers along the sleeping man's jawline. So young, and so beautiful, and so... no, not dumb. But... inexperienced. Well, Jack thought with a grin, such allegations required context. Ianto was really rather adept in certain ways, the likes of which Jack had greatly enjoyed a while earlier. But he was inexperienced in life. Which went back to his being so young.

He had a certain stoicism as well, Jack reminded himself. A youthful shyness and uncertainty, which had been transformed into quiet, sober reflection by traumas for which he hadn't been prepared. By Torchwood. But Jack couldn't bring him to wish, even slightly, that Ianto had been spared this life. It broke some people, even those who'd entered it strong. But it molded others, forged them through fire into something they wouldn't have been capable of becoming in a simpler life.

Ianto wouldn't have amounted to much outside of Torchwood. To an outsider, it might sound like Jack was giving himself too much credit for the young man's formation. But it wasn't his own influence which ultimately made the difference. It was Ianto's innate potential. In a normal life, he'd have been merely average – generally unremarkable. Jack had been reacting to this intuition when he'd rejected Ianto's initial efforts to join Torchwood 3. He'd met all too people who matched that description: incredible potential, but little inclination to act on it. And he was loathe to set himself for the disappointment of seeing such potential go to waste. The Doctor could somehow always serve as that missing catalyst, effortlessly bringing out the best possible versions of those who travelled with him. Jack, on the other hand, had to watch helplessly as so many of those with whom he crossed paths wasted the one lifetime allotted to them.

But Ianto – he had that rare combination of both raw potential, and the drive to hone it into something useful. He'd demonstrated that one time too many for Jack to keep sending him back to a normal life – not when he clearly had the capacity to become so much more.

Ianto didn't know any of this, of course. He couldn't see beyond his own insecurities and attempts at compensation. But Jack saw it, saw how full of life he was – and for the sake of that, needed to be near him. With over a hundred years behind him and an uncountable span to come, Jack was cursed with an excess of life which made him painfully aware of how inevitably death followed. But deep inside Ianto, so young and mortal, was the impetuous gleam of vitality that kept Jack enthralled.

Ianto stirred, and his steady breathing hitched before he settled again, a bit closer to Jack. Jack responded by allowing his hand, and gaze, to leave his lover's face. He draped his arm around Ianto's shoulders, and closed his eyes as he settled his head on the pillow next to the Welshman's tousled hair. He breathed in the subtle scents of sweat and aftershave, of youthfulness and life.


End file.
